


Affections Paid in Blood

by Sketch_A_Bow



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bofur has a thing for people who threaten his life, Burglary, His family thinks he's crazy, M/M, Song Inspired, Strangers to Lovers, There's some violence but not like whoa, breaking people out of jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketch_A_Bow/pseuds/Sketch_A_Bow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normally, when someone breaks into your house, bloodies you up, and threatens your life, you tend to have a bad impression of them. Bofur is not normal. And hey, the guy that broke in threatened, but he didn't ACTUALLY kill him, so that's something to start with, right? </p><p>Inspired by the song 'Bleeding Love' by Leona Lewis, listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DN87dn1ZPhw </p><p>I'm making this seem like it's kinda of a light fun fic. It's not. Be warned. It's not 'Oh My Fridgerator that was terrible' sad, but this ain't no rubber ducky bathtub fun times either. Just saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A price taken

      Bofur felt as frozen in the routine of his life as his body did in the clutches of the fickle mountain weather as he ambled back from work. He knew he was being morbid. It wasn’t a terrible life; he had his brothers and his job and a roof over his head. There were many who had it worse. But he felt that it was far from a content life that he was living. He had tried to find happiness where he could in his younger phase, but he knew better than to ask anyone to take on the lifestyle of a traveler. Now his family had finally managed to settle for a few years, enough time to build families and amass the trinkets of a life built on solid places. But he had given up on ever finding someone to share his own small part of it all with. Life was busy enough playing uncle to Bombur’s children, and there was little he could offer to anyone in any case.

 

     Like a good home, for starters. It was dangerous living in such a small settlement, but the weak mines that had been opened on the exposed eastern side of the mountains couldn’t support a larger town. Bandits regularly targeted the exposed homes, raiding the miners for whatever measly tokens of worth they might have. The pay was scant, but there were few willing to take the risk and work, so at least he had reasonable security. Sighing to himself, he looked around at the sparse accessories decorating the walls. It was in desperate need of some color. Perhaps he could buy some paints from the trade wagons come summer, and find the inspiration to carve something. In the meantime, all he had the energy for was to clean himself up, force some dinner down, and sleep. The rest of his family would be gathered for dinner on the other side of town, but he didn’t have the energy to play the cheerful dwarf today. They would understand, assume he had worked extra hours at the mine. He felt a bit ashamed at avoiding his loved ones, but he was just so _tired._

 

     He had just huddled down underneath his fraying quilt, bones already aching with the thought of a bitterly cold morning walk to work. Sleep had just crept over his shivering frame when a sudden blast of freshly biting air forcefully dragged him awake. The sound of splintering wood was joined by the crashing of pottery in the other room of the small home, and Bofur scrambled from his bed, forgoing the lighting of a lantern in his haste. Flinging aside the curtain, he had only a moment to gauge the situation before a blade was glinting towards him in the thin light offered by the banked fire. Throwing his arms up to protect himself, Bofur was forced to stagger back, crying out at the stinging that lanced across his forearms. Knocking into the bed, he fell heavily onto it, his attacker not slowing as he pressed his advantage. The man was wiry, but strong, pinning the miner to the bed easily, one of his wicked knives resting against  Bofur’s throat.

 

 

     It wasn’t how he had imagined dying. It was much more shocking and quite a bit more adventurous than the mine cave-in Bofur had always fantasized for himself. Squaring off with his attacker, he tried to regain his breath without allowing his throat to press into the sharp blade. He stared into the man’s hazel green eyes, the light reflecting off the blade and onto his face. Attention was brought back to the matter at hand by a low growl.

 

          “Stay down. Unless you want some more tokens of this encounter.”

 

     At the same time, the man reached and pressed the handle of his other knife into one of the gashes he had carved into Bofur’s arm, making him swallow down a whimper. And then like a wisp of smoke, he was gone. Bofur heard him in the other room, rummaging through the sparse belongings. He stayed on the bed. Only a quiet scuffle of leather boots on wood signaled the man’s exit back through the broken window.

 

 

     When Bofur woke in the morning, he was nearly frozen and covered in blood. Even running all the way to the mine couldn’t warm him up, but he hardly minded. Everyone feared a night robbery, and rightly so. He had come close to dying. But that was hardly a fresh experience, and it was the most alive he had felt in a great long while.

 

     The day passed in a distracted blur, and as he trotted home Bofur almost felt _cheerful._ He told himself it was just because the sun had decided to show up for the late autumn day. He stubbornly ignored the way his arms stung against his rough shirt, and how the intruder’s strange accent kept curling through his thoughts.

 

     He was still so distracted as he walked through the door that he was genuinely startled when Bifur almost knocked the chair over in his haste to reach him. His cousin wrapped him tightly in his strong arms, and he couldn’t help but think of the contrast it had with the night before. As soon as he had his hands free, Bifur began signing so fast that Bofur could barely keep pace. He quickly realized the situation.

 

     He had been in such a hurry that morning that Bofur hadn’t cleaned up any of the evidence of the break in. Bifur had come back that morning from Bombur’s to find the window smashed in, glass, pottery, and wood debris everywhere, and the bedroom floor and bedsheets spattered with blood. He knew there had been a burglary, but had no clue if Bofur was alright, or even still alive. Bifur told him he hadn’t gone to his brother, deciding to wait and see if he returned before raising panic.

 

     Bofur was glad he had not dawdled at work today. Bifur spent his time split between sleeping at the home he shared with Bofur, and living over at Bombur’s house, helping his wife to take care of their growing family. If they had thought he was missing, alarms would have been raised all over the entire town, and Bombur would have left work to look for him, losing business he couldn’t afford to miss. Bofur felt guilt curl in his gut, dissipating his light mood from earlier. He thanked his cousin again for not reacting excessively, and set about cleaning up the mess while Bifur settled down for some much needed sleep. Things were set to rights quickly, and Bofur said a twisted thanks for his home being so small. Strangely, there was nothing he could find that appeared to be missing, maybe some food. It was somewhat amusing to think about that bread, ale, and cheese were the most valuable things he owned. The damage from the outside looked the worst, the hole gaping pathetically in the bare wall. Reaping from the kindling pile, he managed to scrounge up a few pieces of wood to block over the damage. They certainly held no contest to the lovely shutters Bifur had carved two summers ago, but they would keep out the cold well enough. New ones could always be made. He might even use some of those paints to liven it up.

 

 

     Taking advantage of Bifur’s continued slumber, Bofur retreated back into the warmth of the house and set about trying to clean up his wounds. When he left that morning he had simply tugged a shirt on over the mess of his arms, and as it peeled off he winced at the sight. Dried blood covered most of his forearms, flaking off in patches and clumped in the hair. The gashes themselves were more severe than he had thought; they would need to be stitched up. One began at the top of his left arm, angling across with the ark of the knife slash clearly evident where it continued down his right arm, all the way to his elbow. Another traveled down his right arm, curving along the inside, and the last went almost directly across his left arm just above the elbow. The ones on his right arm he could manage, but trying to sew with his right hand was more likely to cause harm than good. Sighing to himself, he put the bloodied shirt back on, grabbed his sew kit, and resignedly marched off to his brother’s house.

 

     Showing up in such a state caused exactly the uproar he had hoped to avoid. Medra ushered the children off wide-eyed as soon as she saw the blood, beseeching them to go play with their toys. Bombur had just walked in the door behind him, and Bofur was reminded how grateful he was to have a such a calm, stoic brother. Gently, he sent his wife off to go ahead and get the kids fed and tucked in for the night, and then he just as gently, if not so calmly, dragged Bofur off into their bedroom. Silently he steered him to sit on the edge of the bed, and waited as his brother removed the ruined shirt. A sharp hiss of breath was the only reaction he gave at seeing the gashes. Medra brought in a basin of steaming water, and Bofur tried to keep from flinching as they tag-teamed him. She gently washed the wounds, the water quickly turning pink despite his earlier attentions. Bombur followed behind, nimbly and neatly sewing the skin back together.

     Overall, it was more soothing in its normalcy than anything else, which made Bofur a bit morose. Receiving medical care at the courtesy of his brother was familiar as the feel of a mattock in hand. His whole family was gifted with dexterity, having been using their hands to get by since they were small, and a life spent traveling was a tough one. All of them had seen more than their fair share of wounds in the long years. These scars would be more visible than others, but they were far from the worst he had borne. He actually was rather optimistic about how they would heal. Whoever his attacker was, they took very good care of their blades; the wounds were cleanly cut, not at all jagged and torn like the goblin bone-mace he had taken to his shoulder when he was younger.

 

 

     The work was done before long, and Bofur mumbled a quiet thanks as he gently pulled his shirt back over his head. He knew the real price was coming. His head emerged from the safety of his shirt to find two stern gazes resting on him, Medra’s foot tapping quietly.

 

          “Would ya believe me if I just told you it was nothing to worry about?”

 

          “Bofur,” Bombur pressed quietly. “I know you. You don’t get into random fights, bar brawls and the like. Mahal, I haven’t even seen you close enough to a bar to get into a scuffle in years!”

 

          “I know!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. He quickly arranged them back in his lap as the stitches stretched. “It wasn’t a… bar fight. It was my own fault, I was jus being stupid and not completely awake last night and –“

 

          “Wait!” Medra burst in. “This happened last night? And you only now got treatment for your arms?”

 

          “Well yeah, it was late and then I ‘ad work this morning and when I got home I needed ta clean up first…”

 

          “That is no excuse! You need to take better care of yourself.” She was quickly working into a tirade. "Do you think your arms are something you can just do without?" "

 

          “It was a break in then,” Bombur said quietly. He shook his head sadly, and Medra stopped her ranting, a look of horror spreading across her face.

 

          “Oh Mahal,” She breathed, fidgeting in place as she fought the urge to wrap Bofur in a hug, mindful of his injuries. “You’re very lucky you weren’t hurt worse, they could have killed you!”

 

          “It was just one,” Bofur corrected.

 

          “What?” she replied distractedly, searching around for a spare blanket to put around his shoulders.

 

          “There was just the one burglar,” he repeated.

 

          Bombur frowned. “That’s strange. All the reports I’ve heard, they work in groups.”

 

          “Aye, I’ve heard the same. But this one was alone for sure. And he could’ve killed me, but he didn’t. Had a knife right at my throat.”

 

          “Oh, enough of this awful talk!” Medra said as she bustled back into the room with the tea tray. “It sends shivers down my spine. You’re alive and safe, and that’s all the more that matters right now.”

 

          Bombur nodded along, agreeing with his wife. But as he picked up a biscuit from the tray, he added. “By whatever miracle you managed to make it out in one piece, it wasn’t due to the kindness of burglars. They are ruthless, honorless folk. He more than likely didn’t want to waste the time it would have taken to slit you open, or dealt with the mess. At most, it may have made him feel less guilty in his convoluted mind to leave you alive. It’ll work against him though. I’ll be giving the report to Dwalin to spread around in the morning. He won’t last for long on his own.”

 

     As Bofur took his own tea and biscuits, he couldn’t help but feel a tug of regret that he had shared so much of the details of his attacker.

 

 

 


	2. Taken to Market

 

     “I think we’ve done it!” Dwalin shouted as he bustled down the tunnel. Startled, Bofur almost fell into the wall. He was so tired he had almost been sleepwalking, but the burly dwarf made sure to chase off the last tendrils of fatigue with his booming voice.

 

     With a clap on the shoulder that almost made Bofur’s knees buckle, he firmly steered the miner quickly back along the tunnel and up to the surface. Dwalin maintained his chatter the entire way, and the words just washed over Bofur, a few catching and sinking through his fur hat. ‘Town Square’ ,‘Identification’, ‘retribution’. He felt like he needed to wake up, should be listening to what Dwalin was saying because while they were on amiable terms, he had never heard the warrior speak so much all at once while sober. The true waking did not happen though, until his friendly captor halted them in front of the atkâtîn.

 

      The tiny iron barred cells offered no escape from the elements, as they were designed for only the worst sort of criminal. Those who committed minor offences were sent home to sleep off their over exuberant bought of drinking, or matters were settled between those involved. But nobody passed the cold metal unchanged. Those sentenced here were put to death, or publicly extirpated of their beards and cast out. Bofur had seen it happen several times in his years living here. Hardened, violent looking dwarves, and some desperate ones too. He had felt bad for them, but glad it wasn’t any closer than that.

 

 

       Except right now, he recognized the eyes staring out at him from that dismal place. They were the same pretty hazel, but something in them seemed a little vacant now. A flash of recognition stirred in them, but the robber seemed to slam down on it with a slow blink. He wasn’t sure how he had been caught, but he hadn’t gone easy, if the bloody shirt was any indication. Bofur knew how he was supposed to feel; it was mirrored in every face around him. Relieved, and righteously angry, yearning for closure. The panic filling his head and chest like a hive of bees was mostly unsettling. He hadn’t wanted to be here, to be seeing the robber like this. He felt his face flush involuntarily as his mind readily supplied a number of more palatable scenarios.

 

          “There’s no need to feel ashamed, ya know,” Dwalin said, patting his shoulder forcefully again. “It coulda happened to anyone, and he’s not goin to be hurting anyone again.”

 

      Bofur choked hard on the urge to laugh explosively. The last thing he needed added to his gossip line was a mental break. Using the outrageously misled dwarf to his advantage, Bofur was escorted home and given all the details along the way.

 

 

          “Aye, we happened to get a lucky break in finding him, it was one of my newer recruits actually,” Dwalin proudly stated. “And the lass was smart, called in backup to ensure a capture. It was the strangest thing though. I was there personally, with four of my best men and the recruit, and he held them all off with nary an injury. Just deflected any hit that came his way and knocked weapons out of hand when he could.” Dwalin gave him a sidelong glance. “He’s definitely a lil mixed up in tha head. Took a good number of hits to bring him down, and he hasn’t said a word since. Just sat there an stared. Right disquieting with those eyes of his.”

 

     Bofur felt his emotions coalescing with every word. “What will happen to him?” he ventured, hoping he had the proper expression on his face. Apparently it was close enough. Dwalin’s face scrunched in sympathy.

 

          “Like I said, you’ve no reason to worry about him at all. He’s to be publicly opinioned in two days time. The people will likely choose death, as honor means nothing to his sort.  A public shaming and shunning won’t stop him from going right back to it.”

 

     He just nodded thickly, not trusting himself to speak. Dwalin left him at his door, and he quickly washed and went to bed, avoiding his family. He knew they would want to talk about it all, see that he was okay and reassure him of his safety. But he didn’t need reassurance any more. Just time to think and plan.


	3. Freely Given

 

          The next morning was the gauntlet. Bombur and Bifur cornered him on his way to the mine, and they were far more familiar and harder to fool than Dwalin had been.

 

     “Bofur please, I insist that you stay over.” Bombur placed one large hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his determined push for the mine entrance.  “Bifur can manage to sleep on the couch for a few nights. It would ease our minds, Medra’s especially. She worries about you so.”

 

           Bifur added in his own reassurances that he actually enjoyed the couch, it was quite comfy. They continued on in a similar string, about how it would be just like they were kids again, how Bombur’s children would love to have him over for more than a few hours.

 

     “Brothers!” Bofur finally exclaimed. “I appreciate the concern, truly I do. But I’m not some wee child that needs protection. It’s already bad enough I came so poorly out of a fight in the first place!” He waved his still bandaged but healing arms for emphasis. “I think I can manage to sleep in my own house for a night without worrying over a man who’s locked behind impregnable bars.”

 

          Bombur frowned for a moment, before finally stepping away. “As you wish brother. I never meant to throw any dishonor. It’s not that we don’t think you capable; it’s our own worry guiding these actions.”

 

          “I know. Just… I need this. I promise, this whole thing will be cleared up soon enough, and then things will go back to normal. We’ll plan for me to spend a few days over next week maybe aye? Me and the kids can have a grand time making some new toys, and everyone can be assured that all’s well.” Bofur smiled at both of his brother’s in turn. “Now if you two are finished mother hennin me, I do have a job that’s needin done.”

 

 

     The restless energy had almost eaten him up by the time he left work. Bofur had spent all day trying to avoid scratching at his bandages, and he ended up tearing them off on the way home, running to try and burn off some of the jitters. As he approached the house, he could see the firelight flickering out through the windows, and couldn’t keep in a sigh. Of course they would have still wanted to keep tabs on him.

 

     Strolling in, he nodded to Bifur, who was reading on the couch. He made himself some dinner, offering to make up a plate for his cousin, who declined. Sitting down at the table, he ate his meal in silence, knowing that Bifur was only getting about half his normal reading done. Needing to escape from the silence, he abruptly stood, washed his plate, and made sure to announce loudly that he was going to bed. As he shut the door behind him, he caught the hint of shame in Bifur’s eyes, and he felt his own twinge of regret for being so cold in the face of his family’s love and concern.

 

 

     The house fell silent around him, but Bofur’s brain stayed ticking on. He listened attentively as Bifur shuffled off to bed, and let out a breath of relief when his rolling snores began echoing through the house. Thank Mahal for loud brothers. Clambering out of bed still fully dressed, Bofur quickly grabbed the pack he had made up and his mattock from beside the door. Minding all the creaky boards and slamming doors that he knew by heart, he swiftly left his home behind.

 

     The patrols were thicker than he had anticipated, but most of them were focused inward towards the prisoner they knew sat in the town square, not anticipating any sort of trouble so soon after the public display of the consequences. Bofur allowed a quiet chuckle to escape as distant noises began to the North, and all of the night watch slowly began to trail off. After all, their only prisoner was behind solid bars. What was there to protect on him, when something else was happening that could pose more threat?

 

      Bofur had spent the entire afternoon carefully constructing the distraction, using the explosive reserved for clearing mines. He had orchestrated it all to make use of the mine echoes, creating a much larger sound than the incredibly small amount of powder he used could hope to make. Nothing would be damaged from the display, he had made sure of that. But it should  keep everyone investigating for long enough.

 

     Sure that the square was clear, Bofur pulled a homemade cloth mask over his face and made his approach. It was only slightly surprising that the burglar was nowhere in sight; it made little difference to his plan. Striding quickly up to the cell, Bofur stuck the flat end of his mattock behind the corner bar and wedged it out and away. Then using the extra space, he struck the bar beside it with strong efficient strokes until it was bent out to the side. The dwarf was skinny;he could easily fit through the space. 

 

     Speaking into the darkness, he said quietly, “I canna say how long the guards will be distracted; someone mighta heard all the racket I made. I’d suggest you leave swiftly, and don’t stop till at least morning. If you have a close hiding place it would be a wise destination.” He spun around and began to leave the square, before pausing and whispering one last line. “I wish you all the luck in the world.”

 

 

     It had been tested proof that no one had ever broken out of that prison. Until now. Dwalin didn’t speak to anyone for three days, and nobody dared to try speaking to him. Whether it was rage or awe or some mix of the two, he looked haunted. The burglar had still been nameless upon his disappearance, but that didn’t stop the locals. He had instead been dubbed the Phantom.

 

     Bofur had taken what he felt was a well-deserved lie-in on his day off, only to be roughly awoken by several slightly hysterical dwarves. Bombur had told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to have Dwalin assign him a guard, and Dedra tried to coax him into taking a vacation, discreetly traveling with the next trade group to the Shire. Bifur just signed promises to track down and deal with the problem himself.

 

     Trying to calm everyone and get the situation back under control, Bofur confidently stated, “Just stop worrying, the lot of you. Think for a moment. What purpose would it serve him to come back and kill me. He knows the entire village is on high alert, and he already faces death here. The most logical thing for him to do was run, which he did. Run and move along to somewhere far enough away from here that the stories wouldn’t of spread.”

 

     Seeing lingering doubt in the eyes of his brother, he added, “And honestly, look at how powerful he is. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done so that night. He would have done so when the guard cornered him. He’s a burglar, not a murderer. He had no interest in killing. I was just a bit too much in the way is all, and now it’s over.” He smiled at his loved ones, trying to spread his own ease to them. “Now, if you mind, I was rather enjoying being asleep, and if you want me awake in time for dinner tonight, I suggest you let me get back to it. It’s not an easy job, you know.” He winked to take the grump out of his words.

 

     Dedra gave him a watery smile for his efforts, and Bifur turned and left with a grunt, clearly satisfied with the logic presented. Only Bombur trailed the doorway. He seemed ill at ease, but finally left his brother to his slumber.

 

     Bofur did get back to sleep, and woke just in time to head over for dinner. The children were overjoyed to see him, asking to be picked up and told stories, oblivious to the adult stresses of the past few days. Deciding to take a braid out of their hair, Bofur did exactly the same. He glossed over the concerned looks at dinner, not mentioning the extra heaping portions of dessert that were Bombur's form of coping. He even stayed late, helping Dedra put the little ones to bed, and headed back home with his cousin. Nothing was said of Bifur's steady grip on the knife at his hip, and friendly nods were exchanged with Dwalin as he patrolled. The morning witnessed Bofur up early and alert, cheerfully setting off to work, paying no mind to the badly concealed stares at his healing wounds. Routine fell onto life as rapidly as the next snowstorm, but to Bofur things somehow felt lighter, despite the heavy weather. 

 

 

 


	4. Perennial Growth

          There was such a rush of contentedness in his chest that Bofur thought he might burst into song. As it was, he whistled all the way home, waving at everyone he crossed. He had many reasons to be happy. The winter had proven to be a mild one, and the food stores had held strong. The mines had improved as well, all the hard work finally reaping a more successful turnout, and he had made enough extra to afford the paints and other goods he had wanted from the trade wagons. There had even been enough to start a small garden, which had overjoyed Bombur.

 

          His wounds had healed nicely as well. He still thought of the burglar often, wondered if he had gotten off clean, and where he was. It made him laugh to think that if he tried to burgle him now, he could just make off with one of the pumpkins from the garden, and not have to break half the things in his house. He knew that it was strange to think on someone who had threatened you with such fondness, but in the face of a life filled with violence, it just didn’t seem as terrible as everyone else seemed to think. He hadn’t _died,_ wasn’t even that badly hurt. Mahal, he had seen worse cuts come off a clumsy fall with some dishware.

 

          Shaking off the pointless roundabout of thoughts in his head, Bofur bounded up the steps and into Bombur’s house, catching up the two older children in his arms and swinging them about squealing. With one tucked under each arm, he lent down to give the baby a tickle with his mustache, grinning as she rocked back laughing. Dinner was the usual rowdy affair, and Bofur was glad to shut the door on the noise as he left the rest of his family to wrestle children to bed. The night was just on the warm side, but the mountain breeze was cool and refreshing. It was so nice that he couldn’t bear to stifle himself in the house, leaving the windows open and drifting off to memories of nights spent under the stars.

 

 

          The light scuffing sound shouldn’t have woken him, but maybe his mind knew more that it was letting on. In either case, Bofur woke up and heard it, and his eyes went immediately to the open window. If some woodland critter thought it could get an easy meal out of sneaking into his house, it had another thing coming. He reassessed his thoughts on the situation though as the shape that popped up in the window was clearly too large to be a raccoon. Not moving, Bofur watched carefully as the dwarf finished pulling himself up and through the window, landing softly on the bare floor.

 

     Smiling slightly, Bofur drawled, “Well then, I really must be something special, for you to try and burgle me twice. That’s going on the assumption that you’re not after me very valuable whittling sticks.”

 

          The satisfaction at seeing the silhouette jump fractionally was overwhelming. Turning quickly, the burglar stayed where he was, watching Bofur calmly. Closing his eyes, he stretched  expansively on the bed, waiting for the next move to be made.  A few steps brought the other dwarf out of the bedroom, and Bofur listened idly as he shuffled through the rest of the house, thankfully refraining from breaking anything this time. Propping himself up against the wall, he picked up the carving he had been working on the last few nights, adding in some details and debating what color paints to use. Speaking in a conversational tone, Bofur said, “If you’re looking for something worthwhile to take, I’m afraid you quite got everything good the first time round.”

 

     The stranger leaned around the doorway, and at the look on his face Bofur couldn’t help but smile. “I know you dinna steal anything last time, but you’ve no idea how cross my cousin was that you broke his shutters. Since he’s not here, I’ll appreciate your care in his stead.”

 

     “Why?” he asked.

 

     “Why what?” Bofur replied easily. “Gotta be careful with that question, you can end up asking it your whole life.”

 

     The man sighed rather dramatically. “Why are you so calm as I ransack your house? Why do you seem more concerned with broken shutters than the fact that I slice your arms to ribbons? And why did you help me escape?”

 

     “Ah, and the first one should be plain as day! You’re quite a scary chap, and I’m not so dense as I may look. You’ve no interest in pain, so long as I stay out of the way, we get along terrifically. As for the second, you’re a confident one aye? I wouldn’t call my arms ‘ribbons’, they still work well enough,” Bofur groused.

 

     “It was only three cuts, but I’ll admit it got the point across. It took longer to remake shutters than it did my arms to heal however, so there’s the answer to that one. And the last, well, that’s both tricky and simple, depending upon what side you’re looking from.” The silence stretched on for a long moment before he continued. “Tricky answer is, I didn’t think you deserved the fate you were being dealt, and I mighta been a tad ruffled that I dinna get a say in it all, even though I was the obvious victim.” Bofur gave a cheeky grin. “Simple reason… you’ve got pretty eyes.” Bofur kept his eyes trained on the wood in his hands, waiting for the axe to drop.

 

     “Wha?” the stranger looked somewhere between incredulous, angry, and more than a bit thrown.

 

     He knew he was blushing slightly, but since it was too dark to see, it didn’t count. “I know it’s crazy, we barely spoke, I don’t even know your name. All I knew is that when I saw you behind those bars it made something in me feel wrong, and I couldn’t let it happen. It was no choice at all really.”

 

     “Nori.”

 

     Bofur looked up, and the dwarf repeated himself. “My name’s Nori.”

 

     He fought the urge to smile. “Bofur. Satisfied to finally make your proper acquaintance.”

 

          The sound of the front door squeaking open surprised them both, and the memory of their matching ‘younglings caught out after curfew’ faces would have him giggling for days. As it was, Nori disappeared out of the window in the span of a breath, and Bofur just managed to arrange himself in a passable guise of freshly awoken before Bifur brushed aside the curtain.

 

          Feeling like a guilty teenager, he eagerly went along with Bifur back to his brother’s house to help clean up the aftermath of a vaguely described ‘bean soup’ incident.

 

 

          The interruption apparently wasn’t enough to faze Nori in the slightest, as he spirited his way back into the house the next night. The conversation was slow at first, but sitting there sharing the dark, Bofur couldn’t call it awkward. They found a shared basis of family; and wasn’t that a surprise? Nori was always surprising him, and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. He broke every stereotype Bofur had ever heard people heap on thieves, and his steel-sharp wit had him muffling bouts of laughter in his pillow.

 

          Their bond grew in those quiet moments. Nori would leave for periods of time, his stealing missions an unspoken truth between them. But his absences grew fewer and farther between, until on a sunny autumn day three years later a stranger approached Bofur as he fiddled in the garden. Taking in the stained cloak and muddy boots, he quickly assumed it was a down on their luck traveler trying to nab a bit of food. He was just about to offer them some of the plentiful potatoes when the sarcastic voice he knew all too well snuck out from under the hood.

 

     “Well aren’t you looking domestic today?”

 

     Bofur had to take a moment to collect himself before he urgently whispered, “Nori! What are you doing here?”

 

     “Well, here to visit, obviously. And to share the good news; Ori finished her apprenticeship and has secured a job, quite a prestigious one at that.”

 

     Bofur made a noise of congratulations in his throat, but Nori continued. “And, since there are no longer the bills of her learning to pay for, I’ve given up my old life for good.” There was a muted pride in his voice, and Bofur couldn’t help but grin. His worry persisted though.

 

     “That is a very great thing to hear for sure. But maybe you should move on inside. Dinna get me wrong, I’m delighted to see you, but you could get caught!”

 

     The former thief gave a quiet chuckle. “Oh aye? That hadn’t occurred to me, I best hide out in your house the rest of the season then. It’s been years Bofur; surely they’ve forgotten I ever existed.”

 

     “I wouldn’t be too sure. I can name at least one captain of the guard who has no memory problems.”

 

     He got a careless shrug for his troubles. “Let him accuse then. I have an alibi and witnesses. My family will lie for me. Plus, I’m hardly recognizable from what I was then!” He had noticed that the dwarf was not sporting a very fine three part hairstyle, nothing like the flat nondescript ponytail he had always worn before.

 

     “The only thing tying me to that old life are the memories and the physical evidence. I can hardly be had on that though. It’s a tough life; we’ve all got our scars.” Nori fell suddenly quiet, and Bofur peered under the hood.

 

     It took a moment to identify the emotion on Nori’s face as guilt. “Speaking of that, I never did formally apologize. I am sorry about the ah…” he gestured eloquently at Bofur’s arms.

 

     He looked down, realizing that Nori had never actually seen the shiny cables of scar tissue in the daylight. It was reasonable that they would look much worse to a stranger, but he had seen them through all the stages of healing. They were a part of him, and his story.

 

     “No worries,” he said, shrugging. Nori looked askance.

 

     “Honestly,” Bofur continued, “I don’t regret them at all.”

 

     “Really?”

 

     “Aye. They were my own fault, after all. Could’ve very well stayed cowering in my bed, or at least had a weapon ready like a smart dwarf.” He stopped for a beat before plowing on. “An if I hadn’t been so dense, I woulda never gotten to have you crash into my life.”

 

     He sat there for a moment, idly twisting his fingers together, shovel forgotten.

 

     “Sides… I sort o’ like them.”

 

     Nori just raised his eyebrows, and he pushed on.

 

     “I genuinely do. They remind me o’ you and the way I see it…” He leaned forward till his breath mingled with Nori’s. “They’re like love bites, but much more permanent. I’m yours well and truly.”

 

          Bofur fought back a smug smirk as he heard Nori’s breath quicken. Sitting back, he struggled to not laugh as the handsome dwarf averted his eyes to the rows of vegetables until his breathing evened out. Suddenly grinning, the thief flashed his gaze back up to meet his, and he bluntly stated, “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

 

          The conversation devolved into increasingly ridiculous arguments as the pair went inside to fabricate the story of how they met. Bofur was already looking forward to the big family introductions, and he couldn’t help but think that he finally had a life full of things both real and permanent.

 

 

 

~~Finis~~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just to give an idea, these are the sort of cuts Bofur would have had from the knife. Warning, they are graphic, so proceed with caution. 
> 
> http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/39232000/jpg/_39232194_braveblood203.jpg 
> 
> http://cdn.c.photoshelter.com/img-get/I0000wRTHKnH6hBM/t/200/I0000wRTHKnH6hBM.jpg


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